Buried: Ascension
by Pentangle-linnon
Summary: Part 3 of series. Legolas is both the one in peril, and the hindrance to Estel's plans to save him. Aragorn. Legolas. Elrond. Twins.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Buried: Ascension

Author: Pentangle

Estel is fifteen years old.

A/N My elves are lighter than men but not light enough to walk on snow. (They can do that just 'cause they're elves. :-)

This story follows Buried: Descent and Buried: Revelation and is the last in the series.

/thoughts/

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Ch. 1 Knife Work

Legolas peered over the large rock pile with satisfaction. He had trailed the two he was watching to their hideaway and solved a perplexing problem for the tiny villages that clung along the lower slopes of the Misty Mountains. Not even villages, really, just a few cots with connected families who knew better than to believe the folk tales about elves. The villagers benefited from the security provided by the patrols from Imladris and the elves bartered for the foodstuffs they grew in their small, fertile fields.

The tiny settlements had been plagued by singular horse thieves. Taking only one or at most two, and taking care to shed no blood, they would disappear for weeks at a time, escaping capture by the elven patrols. This was not surprising; thieves that physically harmed no one were not a high priority for those fighting the forces of Darkness. In addition, a troop of tramping, clumsy Orcs was one thing, but finding two men who knew the land and how to spoil their trail was quite another. Legolas had come across them purely by accident, pausing in his trip home to find their base camp and fix the position in his mind. He planned to intercept a patrol, give them the information, and then continue his return journey to Mirkwood.

Legolas marveled at how well the camp was hidden. When he had seen the two making off with one scraggy nag, he had followed them northward until they suddenly seemed to disappear. He finally created a large circle around the area where he knew they had to be, and spiraled in very slowly, checking every thicket and rock outcropping. He still might have missed them if the sun had not struck the narrow opening at just the right angle; just wide enough for a man (or a skinny horse) to sidle into, it twisted around until it led down into a little bowl surrounded by rock walls. The small butte that protected it was bare and ragged with hundreds of shadowed hollows and cracks. Although he was not more than a half-day from the borders of Imladris as the falcon flew, it had taken the elf two days to follow and find them.

Legolas had proceeded to carefully creep into the tiny defile and now looked upon two men, six horses, a camp fire, and a little depression that held rainwater. Dawn was breaking and now that he knew where the thieves could be found, he would leave; it was not his part to apprehend them.

Legolas heard no whisper of leaf telling him he had missed something. He heard no footstep, no breath, no scrape on rock. Instead he saw a bright flash of light, felt an exploding pain in his head, and slumped forward.

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(noon of the same day)

Estel sat on the grassy bank of a Bruinen tributary. He watched his fishing pole for a tell-tale bob, but his attention wandered frequently. He released a sigh that came all the way up from his boots; he missed Legolas. He had had a very rough time for nearly three months, and had craved the serene, caring presence of the Prince of Mirkwood. With his help, Estel had banished the illusory, hateful voices in his mind and now knew once more that his family did love him, human or not, king or not. Yet he was still left with his other doubts. What did he have to offer them in return? Those around him were more accomplished at everything he cared about. As he stood poised on the threshold of adulthood, Estel realized he needed to discover why being Estel was laudable, not a handicap. He had no idea where to look for the answer.

Just as he had decided to pull in the pole and go pull another prank on Glorfindel, Estel heard a galloping horse in the distance. It was coming from the direction a messenger from Mirkwood would come. It was too soon to hear from his friend, but Estel rose and ran to intercept the path anyway. In his current campaign to bring two particular advisors to their knees, good strategy demanded that he be well-informed. As the horse came closer, however, he realized by the hoof-beats that it was riderless. His curiosity became concern and he stepped into the path as the horse rounded a curve and came into sight. He slowly raised his arm to stop the animal…and then saw that it was Legolas'. Now frightened, Estel held the horse's muzzle and looked swiftly for signs of battle. He saw none, but was hardly reassured. If all was well the horse would not have left the elf. Something had frightened the animal, and since his second home was so much closer than his first, he had returned to Imladris.

Estel grabbed a bit of hanging vine and quickly fashioned a neck loop. All the while he was thinking furiously. The right thing to do was to ride the horse home and tell his father. If he did the right thing, he would be forced to stay home while a war party rode off in search. They would not let him go for fear of what they might find. Estel's heart was hammering and he was cold again, as he had been while he was ill. He tried not to think of the things his family would want to shield him from seeing.

Estel did not do the right thing. He would not stay tamely home while his friend needed help. He led the horse into deep cover and found more vines. He fashioned a rope and tied the horse to a tree; the horse would graze until he had eaten all the grass within reach. When that was gone, he would pull harder against the vines and break them. Estel's family would soon know as much as he did, but he would have already left. By the time they caught up with him, they would not be able to send him home…(he hoped).

Not a half-hour later Estel was galloping toward Mirkwood on his own horse, Sadoreth, carrying a bedroll and healer's field kit. As he reached the top of the cliff path, it began to rain. Estel swore angrily; he was not that good at tracking yet and the rain would make things much more difficult.

He rode the way Legolas would have gone, watching the signs as best he could, even as they began to disappear. A few hours from Imladris, he had lost the trail entirely and simply headed for Mirkwood. Somewhere along that road was his brother-through-love.

He had to ride across another tributary of the Bruinen and decided to muddle his own trail. If he was caught this close to home, a furious Glorfindel would have him hauled back by the ear, giving him at least one that resembled an elf's. Sadoreth splashed into the wide, shallow stream and Estel turned him down it. They rode its length for nearly a mile.

Estel now had to work his way back to the Mirkwood trail, but to be certain he was not caught too soon he would come around from the north. He would go farther north than the High Pass and then come back toward it. As he continued the rain stopped and he rode onto the plains. A few hours of steady riding took him out of territory he knew well.

It was now early evening and the angle of the sun's rays showed some tracks that would be rare if they had been closer to Imladris. Carrion dogs. They were scavengers who were always the first to know where a good meal could be found. They could kill, but preferred to find those that were dead or nearly so. Some distance further on he saw more tracks, heading in the same direction as the first. His stomach gave a flutter and his pulse speeded up. Perhaps….No, that was nonsense. They could not be going after Legolas. The tracks were paralleling the mountains and heading north. It was absurd. It was entirely the wrong direction. Even as he argued with himself, he turned his horse in the direction the tracks were taking and picked up the pace.

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(Evening of the same day)

In Imladris, three elves relaxed on the library balcony at the end of a beautiful autumn day. They sipped from goblets of wine and watched the last rays of the sun illuminate the far walls of the valley cliffs.

"I cannot take much more of this." groaned Glorfindel. He was slouched in a chair with his legs stuck out in front of him. The drooping hand that was nearly spilling wine upon the floor was a particularly lovely shade of green, up to the wrist.

"How many does that make for you?" Erestor asked sympathetically.

"Twenty…Twenty-two. I am not sure, exactly. And you?"

The First Counselor of Imladris would never slouch, but there was a slight rounding to the normally erect shoulders. "I have decided not to count anymore. It is too depressing to remember them all in detail. Not nearly so many as you."

Elrond was smiling into his goblet as the two friends complained.

"What are _you_ grinning at?" demanded Glorfindel. His question should have been a snarl but sounded merely petulant; he was too dispirited to fully develop his anger.

"I am glad you two have reconciled."

"We have not. This is just a temporary alliance so that we may survive the current situation. Naturally you find this amusing since he has the sense to leave _you_ alone!"

"I am surprised you are not happier that Estel is finally fully restored to health."

This brought a cry of the heart from Erestor. "Restored to health? _Restored_ to health! He is not restored to health! He is springing, bouncing, cavorting, frisking, bursting, sparkling, _exploding_ with health! He has pranked Glorfindel to the point that – well, just look at him! Is that the hero of Gondolin?"

The golden warrior moaned pathetically. Erestor moved across the room and patted the top of Glorfindel's head. "Things will only get worse, my dear friend, now that Legolas has left to return to Mirkwood."

That at last roused the ancient one. "He did not just leave; he ran like a rat from a burning granary! I saw what happened when his father's messenger arrived! He kissed him!"

Elrond snorted. "You are both being ridiculous. And you know well that Legolas was loath to go but his father required his presence."

Suddenly Glorfindel sat up, motioning the others for silence.

Then the others heard it. Faint at first but gaining in volume, some commotion approached them. The air vibrated with the sort of tension that dire news carries with it. The three on the balcony stood and prepared themselves for trouble.

The door was flung open and hit the wall with a crash. An elf from the stables stumbled into the room, gasping. Others, who had already heard his news, trailed in his wake.

"My lords! The horse of the Prince of Mirkwood has returned without him!"

"Something has happened." Elrond looked to his friends standing rigidly behind him, but they said nothing; frozen with dread and disbelief. The borders were fairly quiet and the prince was a reknowned warrior. Elrond glanced outside, then locked eyes with the seneschal. "It is getting late. What do you advise?"

Putting him off with a gesture, Glorfindel spun about to his adjutant who had followed the messenger in anticipation his commander might need him. The warrior barked, "Put four guards on Estel's horse! And watch for any horses leaving the stable without their own riders!"

The elf turned and dashed from the room.

Elrond asked grimly, "Will four be enough?"

"We will hope so. The boy is so damned ingenious! Now, I propose that a small party leaves tonight, with two larger parties to leave at first light. Legolas has been gone two days and is surely well into the mountains by now. Fortunately, there are a limited number of paths you can take once you start climbing, Elbereth be praised."

Yet another gasping elf entered and stuttered, "My lord Glorfindel, Taurnil sends word that the horse is already gone."

The poor messenger blanched as the three most powerful elves in Imladris swore like Easterlings.

Elrond recovered his control quickly and turned to Glorfindel, "Will this change your plans?"

"No. He has surely gone after Legolas; the way we will also go. The elves that leave tonight, myself among them, will carry no baggage except torches and weapons. We will be in the mountains as quickly as possible. We will catch him before he runs into whatever has befallen the Prince. We will need the others to bring provisions, medical supplies, and extra mounts. Elladan and Elrohir will each command a party and go by different routes." He bowed briefly. "I must go now—with your permission."

"Order all as you see fit." Elrond looked out into the gathering darkness. "Bring him back, Glorfindel."

The seneschal spun and strode from the room.

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(mid-morning, before Estel left the valley)

Consciousness returned to Legolas as it usually did: with a thumping headache, queasy stomach, blurred vision, and disoriented thoughts. He laid there for some time before moving his head a little to get his nose out of the dirt.

"'Ere, 'ees wakin' up!"

"Get 'im on 'is feet. Les' see wha' we caught us."

Legolas was hauled up by both arms; a common, if uncomfortable, aftermath to a blow to the head. He focused his blurry eyes on the being in front of him, who pushed back the hood of the elven cloak. /Hmmm, one on each arm, one in front; that makes THREE, Legolas Thrandulion! You were caught by a trick that would not net an elfling/

"It's an elf!

"What's 'ee doin' out here alone?"

"How do we know 'ees alone!"

"'Cause I looked 'round as soon as Dorin thunked 'im, ya cretin! There was only one horse. Dam' thing took off when I tried to catch it. If I'da known it was an elf horse I woulda tried harder!"

"What're we gonna do?"

"We're done for now! Break camp and turn the bay and the sorrel loose. We'll never get all six away b'fore they're down on us."

"Why don't we jes kill 'im?"

Legolas' vision cleared. /Horse thievery must not be paying well by the looks of them./

"Right! And then they'd hunt us down like dogs! Besides, we ain't killed yet and we're not gonna start now."

"_Yer not gonna jes let 'im go_?"

"Not quite. Hold 'im tight." The leader, if that is what he was, stepped behind Legolas. The elf heard the snick of a drawn knife. He struggled, but had not yet recovered his strength enough to get free.

"I be sorry 'bout this but we can't have ya gettin' yer folk after us too soon. An' you could jes magic any ropes we bound ya with."

The man stooped, the knife slashed, and pain blazed—suddenly, shockingly intense. Legolas screamed. His left leg collapsed as horribly and suddenly as the knife had razored across it. He was houghed!

The two holding him lowered him to the ground. Without another word they left him and proceeded back to their camp; within minutes they were gone.

The elf mechanically tended the wound, cutting strips from his jerkin and applying them as a tourniquet. When the bleeding slowed he tightly bound his leg and then lay on the ground, his thoughts numb and his body helpless.

A long time later his mind began to come out of its grim stupor. It occurred to him that he should have let himself bleed to death. It would have been faster and less painful than what he would now face. Unfortunately, he had insufficient (courage? cowardice? he was not sure which) to start the bleeding anew. A chill settled on his spirit as he began to accept the truth. As of a few hours ago he had ceased to be a warrior of Mirkwood.

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End Chapter 1

A/N Hough: cutting the muscles and tendons just above and behind the knee.


	2. Decisions

Title: Buried: Ascension

Author: Pentangle

Estel is fifteen years old.

A/N My elves are lighter than men but not light enough to walk on snow. (They can do that just 'cause they're elves. :-)

This story follows Buried: Descent and Buried: Revelation and is the last in the series.

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**Decisions**

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Estel followed the tracks and became even more worried when he saw the addition of wolf prints. "Come on, Sadoreth, we must hurry!" He did not know why he was so sure that Legolas would be found in this direction, so far from his normal route. He just was.

He was catching up on the predators quickly. He burst out of a copse of poplar and saw a small butte rising out of the plain. It was rugged and had what appeared to be hundreds of large and small boulders ringing it that had probably fallen from the sheer walls above. And just ahead of him a wolf paced along the bottom of the butte and then suddenly disappeared. Estel pounded toward the spot and flung himself off his horse. He drew his sword. Even knowing there was an opening it took a few minutes to find it. He finally found the defile and crept along it until he heard the yelp of a wounded wolf. He hurried on, stealth forgotten. He came out into a small opening in the butte that contained an old campfire, three dead and two live wolves. The live wolves were trying to climb a large pile of rocks close to the entrance to the bowl. The arrows in the dead wolves were of Mirkwood fletching.

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Legolas found that however much he wished he had bled to death, he was not prepared to lie still and be eaten. His bow and quiver had been left with him—no doubt the thieves were not archers and saw no reason to add to their burdens in their flight—so he was able to protect himself, at least for a time. The only positive thing the elf could see in his situation was that the wolves had chased off the carrion dogs that had scented his blood in the first place.

The elf had been able to wedge himself into the rock pile that had led to his downfall and was now in a position to shoot both down into the valley, and behind in the direction the third man must have come. He had had to crawl to the rock pile; his leg was totally useless and hopping was impossible, the pain was too great. He was a little cold—a very strange sensation that he had only felt a few times in his life. He did not worry about it; he would be colder soon.

He was looking behind him for more wolves, when he heard a familiar shout below him.

"Legolas! Legolas! Are you up there!"

The elf moaned and leaned his forehead against the rock wall. His life, which a moment ago had been a known quantity both brief and painful, now became much more complicated. He knew that Estel would violently object to what must happen. Although he would have liked to have said farewell to the boy, it would have been easier on both of them if he had not been found.

The wolves, seeing an armed man at ground level and an armed elf above them, chose discretion over appetite and slunk growling away. Estel clambered up and over the rock pile in haste and found the elf wedged into a crack. Legolas was upright, breathing, and had no terrifying blood on his torso or around his lips. Relief washed over Estel in such a draining wave that he sat down suddenly and put his head close to the ground for a minute. With his head still lowered he questioned his friend.

"Are you all right, Legolas? Is that a bandage on your leg? I cannot see well from here."

"I am wounded, Estel, but I need nothing at the moment."

"Wounded how? Let me see." Recovering Estel stood and went to help his friend from the rock crevice. Legolas allowed himself to be pulled forth but then fell heavily onto the boy.

Estel grunted as he took the weight. "That leg must be bad. Let me help you to sit down and then I will get a fire going. It is too dark to see properly."

Legolas did not object and allowed Estel to carry out his plans. Estel noted the elf was not talkative but that was fine with the boy who was not looking forward to explaining why he was alone. Estel had heard from his father and brothers that Legolas hated to be fussed over and especially hated to allow others to see that he was in pain, so the silence did not worry him. He unrolled his medical kit and boiled water in the small collapsible pan he had taken from it. Finally he was ready to tend the wound.

"Where is it exactly? Front or back?"

"Back."

"Move so I can see it."

Without a word the elf rolled onto his stomach. Estel untied the surprisingly crude bandage and unwound it carefully. When the wound was bared to his sight he stared, stunned, and then gagged. He sat back on his heels and clasped his shaking hands tightly in his lap. He started to speak, paused to clear his throat, and tried again.

"Legolas…I…it is grave…"

"Be easy. I know what was done to me."

The healer in the boy began to take over his shocked mind. "I will clean it and suture it closed, but we must get you home at once. This is not something I can deal with. You need my Adar. He will know what to do."

"I would rather stay here, Estel. There is no point in my going to Imladris and it will be a painful journey for me. It will not take long…A week perhaps, no more. I would not have called you to me, but since you have found me, will you stay with me?"

Estel did not grasp his meaning although something about the elf's words gave him a horrid, frightened feeling. "I have no idea what you are talking about. Of course you must go home. And it will not take a week, even if _I_ have to carry you instead of Sadoreth!"

From his prone position, Legolas awkwardly grasped the boy's wrist. "There is no way to make this easier for you to hear, gwador nin. I will not go to Imladris. I do not want to fade there, among so many. Stay with me here."

"Fade..." Estel said the word as though tasting it. Suddenly he jumped back, snatching his wrist away and staring at his best friend in all Arda. "NO! Are you mad! Elves only fade when they have broken hearts! You are wounded but Ada will heal you as he has so often before. No. No! I will not hear you. You must be becoming feverish. You are going to Imladris!"

Estel began to clean the wound and the pain was enough to keep the elf from attempting further discussion. One part of the elf noted the gentle touch, the apology when pain was unavoidable, the concentration of mind and the deftness of the tending hands. Estel was a healer, no doubt of it. Another part of him felt strange, as though there was already an unbridgeable distance between he and his friend. He knew he had a long, weary task ahead of him to get the boy to understand that some things could not be rectified. One knife stroke and all was ashes.

When Estel had sutured the wound as well as he could, he laid his hands upon the leg and willed the flesh to heal. Elrond said he had the gift but it was still untried and unschooled.

Next he splinted the leg but with a sharp bend in it to keep the tendons from pulling farther apart. He had not attempted to sew them or even the deeper layers of muscle. He was the barest apprentice and knew he would do more harm than good.

After the young man had given Legolas some strengthening tea, the elf tried to talk to his friend again. "Estel, you must listen. You know little about fading. It is not a subject we are pleased to discuss. Grieving hearts, defiled bodies…these are the well-known reasons, the ones in tales and ballads. But I am a warrior. I cannot live a cripple. I will not linger to be a burden to the people I was born to serve. I know this injury better than you do; there is nothing even your father can do. Elrond will tell you the same himself. He so often seems a miracle worker that it is easy for us to forget that…some things are beyond his power…though he himself can never forget, for the graveyard in Imladris reminds him always."

Estel simply carried on making preparations to leave the next day. "I will have to leave you in the morning to get materials to make a litter. You cannot ride with your leg splinted. It should not take long; there is a goodly copse of young poplars very near here. You probably saw it on your way in."

"Estel! You do not listen to me! Here—think on this. Have you ever seen an elf without a hand or limb as you have seen men in the villages? Have you ever seen an elf on a little cart, being pulled about by others? We do not stay in Arda when such catastrophes strike. We go, either to Aman, where the Valar may heal us, or to the Halls of Waiting, where, after a long while, our spirits are returned to bodies that are whole."

Estel kept on with his packing.

"I will be restored. My leg will be as new." He laughed a little. "It will _be _new!" He then spoke very softly and coaxingly. "You do not want that for me? You do not want me whole?"

Estel looked at Legolas in shock which soon turned into cold anger. He bit his words off bitterly.

"That is the lowest thing anyone has ever said to me. And that includes you when you wanted me to die!"

Now it was Legolas' turn to be angry. "That was not me and well you know it!" His voice softened again, "Estel, this is something that you cannot understand. We elves –"

"So now we are back to the elf/human divide. Will you next tell me I stink up your princely nostrils? My voice grates on your sensitive ears? I am so sorry that I am not an elf who will just sit here like a beautiful, sad, drooping lily and watch you die! I am not going to sing laments and write poetry to your fame and to tell the world how utterly, utterly, lovely you looked when you _died_!" He panted raspingly but then spoke very slowly and clearly. "I am going to take you home. I will put you on a litter and take you home. If that does not work I will lay you over Sadoreth and take you home. If that does not work I will put you over my shoulder and take—you—home! If that does not work I will tie a rope around your good foot and DRAG YOU HOME!"

Legolas looked at the boy in despair. "And when I am 'home', what then?"

"Then Ada and I and whomever we need, Mithrandir for one, will heal you."

"Aiya, Estel! You have not heard a word I have said!"

"Then we are even. Now, here is your cloak for a pillow. Lift your head. How is that?"

Legolas was forced to smile a little. "That is fine, Estel. Has anyone ever told you that you are the most stubborn human on the face of Arda?"

"_Everyone _has told me that! Now try to rest. I will watch over you." He placed his own cloak over the elf and tenderly stroked silken strands back from the high forehead, thinking about how their usual roles were reversed. Legolas had not failed him in his direst need. Now he would not fail his gwador. He knew, just as he had known which trail to take to find the elf, that Legolas must not fade. He looked up at the stars Legolas loved so much. Were they guiding him? He hoped so. He could use the help.

Estel watched out the night, trying to decide what he should do. It would be a long time before a search party came this way. Surely they were already looking for him, but they would go the direct route to Mirkwood first. He regretted muddling his trail with all his heart. Now he and Legolas would be found by chance only. If he left and rode as fast as he could it would still take most of two days to get help and return. Legolas was not only fairly helpless physically, but Estel wondered if he would even make much of an attempt to save himself in a killing situation. He might think it better if he was already gone when Estel returned. Could elves accelerate the fading? That would be tantamount to suicide and Estel thought they frowned on that. But he did not know; probably no man did.

The elf's state of mind infuriated him. Was this the mighty warrior of darkened Mirkwood? How dared Legolas simply state he would die, as calmly as saying that he would have porridge for breakfast! And to add to his frustration, a small voice in Estel's mind persistently asked if the elf did not know what was best for him. What would his life be like if he could not be fully healed? If he could never again run through the trees as easily as the breezes that ruffled the leaves more than he did? Back and forth they argued all night: heart and mind. As dawn lit the sky Estel had come to a decision. He would get Legolas home alive. He would get him to his Adar. That would be difficult enough.

He stretched, rose, and went to dress the wound again. The elf said not one word. His flesh was chill and his eyes unfocused. At one point Estel used a momentary roughness just to get a reaction from the elf. Legolas grunted and his eyes focused on the boy in irritation. He knew what had been done and why.

Estel smiled at him brightly. "Good morning! We have nothing to eat but you will not mind that as you are trying to die. I, on the other hand, am quite hungry and hope we find something on the trail. Here are your bow, arrows, and one knife. I am taking the other…" He waited a moment, until Legolas looked at him questioningly and then continued with relish: "…to cut down trees with!"

The elf rose up into a sitting position in outrage. "You will use my _knife _to cut down _trees_? The edge will never be the same!"

"What is that to you? You are fading, remember?"

Legolas settled back down, giving Estel a sour look. "No doubt you think you are very clever."

"I am. Many have said so. Now then, I must go to get the poles I need. First, though, I am taking you down to the valley floor so that you will be in a more sheltered position. I would leave Sadoreth with you for company but it will take me too long if I have to drag all the poles myself." He got down on one knee beside the elf and lifted him with some difficulty and placed him over his shoulder. It was an uncomfortable position for Legolas, but Estel needed one hand free to get down the rocks. He shrugged the weight into a good balance and his burden swore.

"I am sorry, Legolas. That hurt. There is worse to come, I fear. I will go as gently as I can."

Estel slowly picked his way, slipping a little here and there, and banging the elf against more than one boulder. After one particularly hard knock the elf protested.

"Have you decided to kill me yourself? There are easier ways to go about it!"

"Hush! I need to concentrate on what I am doing."

The elf snorted but the pain in his leg was intense and he subsided into teeth-gritting endurance. Once on the valley floor Estel remade the thieves' fire and settled Legolas there with his weapons. He then hurried off to find his horse. Sadoreth was grazing outside the cleft opening and whuffled reproachfully when Estel appeared. The boy paused long enough to rub the horse's forehead and croon appeasing blandishments. Then he tightened his girth, mounted, and headed for the little wood he had seen.

In only an hour Estel had plenty of long, thin poles. Finding something to lash them with would be more difficult; poplar bark would not work. After fruitless searching he decided to use thin branches as cross pieces and Legolas' jerkin to lash them with. He made a large bundle and tied them to the side of his horse with the ends trailing on the ground. Sadoreth sidled and shifted, trying to get away from the unusual burden. Estel soothed him and led him along.

"You will have to endure worse than this, black one. Come on, easy…that is well, gently now, good boy." The horse finally gave a human sigh and stepped out steadily with the poles banging and rattling beside him. When Estel got back to the opening in the butte he saw the first of several problems that would impede his plans. The poles were too long to navigate the tight, twisting passage. He would have to build his litter outside and bring the elf to it. He stripped Sadoreth of his tack, apologizing that he had left it through the night, and quickly rubbed the horse down. He ordered the black horse from Harad to graze as much as he could before they would have to leave. Estel looked at the sun; he wanted to be away by noon and would have to hurry.

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(Meanwhile, in the foothills of the Misty Mountains at dawn of the same day)

Glorfindel called a halt and his elves spread out, dismounting and stretching. He asked his foremost tracker what he had seen.

"I have seen no traces, my lord, but that is not surprising. It rained hard and steadily for several hours. Now that we are climbing, we will see marks on the rocks, no doubt. Be sure I will see them." Glorfindel dismissed him and turned to his lieutenant. The elf hurried alongside to keep up with the famous warrior's pacing. Glorfindel rhythmically slapped his gloves against one hand as he strode impatiently back and forth.

"I cannot believe we have not caught up with him. This is the way Legolas would go. There have been no warnings of unusual Orc activity, rockslides, or any other danger that would cause him to deviate his path. Estel would know that, too, and would come this way. _Why _have we not overtaken him?"

"Perhaps he is lost."

Glorfindel shook his head. "He has been this way four times. Not enough for most to memorize the trail but Estel is not 'most'. He must yet be ahead of us. Still, we cannot discount any possibility. That is why I have sent the twins by different paths. Let us pray they remembered to bring falcons. We brought none for speed sake, but they should be able to communicate with us when it is fully daylight. Tell the others they have one hour to rest their mounts. Then we must go."

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End Chapter 2

A/N Through much research I have determined (i.e. I made it all up) that there are two ways that elves fade. One, from grief or being overtaken by Darkness, is a gradual process that sneaks up on them, so to speak. They are too emotionally involved to see it coming. The other way occurs when something catastrophic happens but the heart is not involved. Then the elf, knowing his fate, can choose to fade quickly.


	3. I Will Not Go to Imladris

**"I will not go to Imladris"  
**

Estel was nearly finished with his one-horse litter. He had ruthlessly taken the rest of Legolas' jerkin and cut it into many narrow strips. The poplar poles were just right: green and springy. The shape was simple—a long 'V' with space for Sadoreth to fit between at the narrow end, then spreading outward until it was about four feet wide at the bottom where it would drag on the ground. The width was important. Too narrow and the litter would have no stability and every rock or unevenness would turn it over; too wide and it would be too hard to pull and would not fit many of the narrow parts of the trail they must traverse. Thin branches covered the space between the main poles, forming a platform for the injured elf. Stronger pole sections crossed at intervals to stiffen the entire contraption. There! It was done.

Estel pulled the light framework into place and tied it on Sadoreth, who now seemed resigned to his new status as draft animal. He bid the horse to wait without moving until he returned. Then the boy turned and faced the cleft again. He drew a deep breath. The easy part was over; now to get the elf. He returned to the campfire and found Legolas staring off at nothing. He was wrapped in Estel's cloak as well as his own, but still looked cold.

"Are you ready? I have arranged fine transport for you."

"I am not going to Imladris."

"Apparently you enjoy having the same conversation over and over. I do not. I am reluctant to point this out, but there is little, short of harming me, that you can do to stop me. I do not think you will hurt me, so stop muttering 'I will not go to Imladris' and save your strength. You will not have a pleasant journey."

Estel had carefully tended the wound earlier and, using the best of the many branches he had brought, had re-splinted the leg. It was not a good arrangement for litter travel. The sharp bend he was maintaining in the limb meant that it would be excruciating for the elf to lie on his back. He would have to be on his side.

Estel again lifted the elf over his shoulder. He started down the passage and had to stop almost at once. There was no way he could fit the elf through like this. The bent leg stuck out too much. He would need some cooperation and was not at all sure he could get it.

He spoke to the head hanging down his back. "You will not fit. The passageway bends too sharply."

"Yes, I am aware of that. I can see bits of my skin on the passage behind us!"

"You must try to climb around and ride on my back as I did yours when I was a child. You will have to put your arms around my neck and let me hold one leg. The other one will not be very comfortable riding like that but it cannot be helped."

Legolas begged, "Estel, please take me back and let me fade here. You are a good friend. I honor how hard you are trying to save me. But, _please_, Estel…."

"Very well, I will do it myself." So saying, he began to shift the elf by inches. It was soon obvious that, without cooperation, at some point Legolas was going to hit the ground, with who knew what consequence to his leg.

"If you help me reposition you, you will be able to strangle me."

The elf's head was now at the boy's rump. "A pleasing thought. Also, I find that I do not want to fade upside down, looking at your backside. Here, see if you can grab my hand if I stretch this way…"

Together they slowly worked the elf around so that he was upright and hanging by his arms around Estel's neck. Legolas panted from the pain. Estel said nothing and got moving; the sooner they were out of here the better. But only a few yards further on they were stuck again.

"Slide down, Legolas. We are in here so tightly you can lean against the wall of this blasted place and not fall to the ground."

Legolas followed the instructions and eased himself down until he was standing on his good leg and holding onto Estel with one hand.

"Now what?"

Estel did not answer. He did not think the elf would care for his next idea. He took off the cloak he was wearing like a thick rope around his chest and shoulder and spread it on the ground.

"Lie down. I am going to have to drag you."

"You are right, Estel. You have convinced me. I will not fade. Life with you is so much more attractive than the Undying Lands."

"You do not do sarcasm well, Legolas. You must be sure to take lessons from Erestor. Now, lie down. I will help you."

Having no real choice, the elf allowed the human to take his arms and gently let him down to the ground.

"Brace the splinted leg with your good one. Here we go." Estel began to walk backward, dragging the irate elf over rock shards and uneven ground. The elf bit his cheek and tasted blood as he tried to keep from crying out. His wounded leg, in spite of the other one being under it, bounced roughly. Pain lanced through him with every short pull that Estel made. After a seeming eternity they made it through the passage.

Once outside, Legolas stared at Sadoreth and the litter. The boy had actually done a fair job under the circumstances, and normally the elf would have said so. But he was exhausted from the journey through the passage, and the idea of traveling for who knew how many days in agony was not appealing. He should have had more energy to protest; he must be fading indeed.

"Estel. This is far enough. You have gotten me out of that accursed hideaway and I thank you. If you take me to a little wood so that I may be amongst trees, I will thank you again. But I will go no further."

The boy hummed to himself as he brought Sadoreth around to line up the litter with Legolas' body. Before he had gone to fetch the elf he had tightly lashed their weapons and few belongings to the side of the litter. He laid his cloak on it so that when the elf lay there Estel could bring it up and over him, giving him a layer of warmth above and below. He lifted the elf in his arms, swung him around, and placed him on the litter.

Legolas rolled off onto the ground. He groaned with pain but managed to grind out, "I am not going to Imladris."

Estel stared at him as if he could not believe what the elf had done.

"I wish Ada had seen that. He would stop holding you up to me as a pattern card of behavior! That was incredibly foolish; your leg will not take that kind of treatment." He picked up the elf again and set him firmly on the litter.

The elf rolled off again. This time he gave more of a muted, gurgling scream than a groan.

Estel nearly danced with frustration. "You wayward, beetle-witted coxcomb! If you do that again, I will bind you hand and foot!"

The boy walked around in a fierce, tight circle, trying to get control of his temper. After a time he came to stand over the elf and said very seriously, "I _will_ tie you down. Do not make me do it, Legolas."

The elf surrendered to the plea in the silver eyes. He imagined himself tying down a struggling Estel and flinched at the thought. No, he could not make the boy do that. Perhaps when the fading was a little farther along, Estel would finally resign himself to the loss of his friend. But for now, he would not fight the boy.

After Estel had settled the elf on the litter, he packed dried grass around and beneath the wounded leg to stabilize it as well as putting some behind Legolas' shoulders to brace them. Then they set out.

During the night Estel had planned his route. They could not go straight to Imladris as there was a cliff in the way that Sadoreth and the litter could not negotiate. There were no trails from here to Imladris; this area had been completely abandoned to the wild long ago. He decided to go around the cliff to the south, hoping to encounter a search party. The problem was, if they did not come across a troop from the Valley, that route would take nearly a week. A mounted man could cover 30 to 50 miles a day, but a one-horse litter would be lucky to make 5 to 10.

The three travelers soon settled into a routine. Legolas simply endured. Estel ran ahead for a hundred yards or so, then ran back having picked out the smoothest route. He would turn Sadoreth in that direction, order the horse to continue, and then run out again, searching the next area. At roughly hourly intervals, if there was any cover at all, Estel would leave the elf to rest and enjoy a period of reduced pain while he scouted a much longer section. He was amazed at how much of the territory that he could have ridden blithely through was not traversable by a horse-litter.

As the day wore on, the elf and the human suffered greatly. Estel was exhausted from constantly running out and back, and from the tension of leading the expedition and making all the decisions. He not only had to get himself and the elf across the countryside, he had to watch for dangers that might overtake them while he concentrated on his task. He often had to walk bent over, holding one side of the litter off the ground in order to get over rocky stretches and other obstacles. He was also worried that he had made the wrong choice for the elf. Legolas was, to all intents and purposes, in hell. The litter bounced roughly over every tiny imperfection in the ground and landed with a thudding jolt after sliding over the top of rocks and tree roots. After a few hours Legolas had asked Estel for something for the pain. Asked! The boy had given him a little syrup of poppy (how deliciously ironic the Valar can be!) but the field kit had only a small amount that might have to last for days.

That night, in the tiny camp Estel made, the situation became worse. The elf's wound was infected. Estel frowned as he pulled away the dressing. "What did that idiot use that knife for, anyway? Gutting fish? Hold still, mellon nin, this will hurt a bit."

"Spoken like a true…aiyah!...healer." Legolas drew a shuddering breath. He was shivering in spite of being nearly inside the small fire Estel had made. The boy finished his ministrations and sat back weakly. There was no time to rest, however. He had dinner to make.

He made a little thin soup from mushrooms and greens found along the way and secured to the litter. It was not enough for one, let alone the two of them. The boy encouraged the elf to eat as much as he could coax into him and finished the little that was left. He banked their small fire and laid out their cloaks for sleeping. He set Sadoreth to watch over them, and lay against his friend to warm him. He whispered softly to the elf who wandered in and out of a daze.

"You cannot leave me, gwador nin. I need you to help me be the son of Arathorn. I heard Mithrandir and Ada speaking when they did not know I could hear. They said you are star-bound with me. You cannot go. I need you to stand by me, be my sword brother, my guide to the ways of people and places I have never seen. Twice in the last few months I asked if you loved me. Twice you proved your love. Now I will prove mine. I will not let you go. If you go despite my efforts, I will take ship like my famous ancestor and demand the Valar return you to us." The boy broke down into soft sobs that he had held back all the while since he had found the stricken elf. He whispered into the back of his friend's head, over and over, "Do not leave me…" until exhaustion finally brought sleep.

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The next morning the infection was so much worse that Estel turned the litter in the direction of the cliff. If they could negotiate it, they would cut days off their trip. Once at the top, the plateau was fairly flat all the way to the border of his home. Of course, the reason he had not chosen that route to begin with was because only a very desperate person would try to get himself and a disabled elf up the steep face. Estel could not help feeling that desperate described him fairly well at this point.

By mid-afternoon they reached the base of the cliff face. Estel did not want to be without a horse but it could not be helped. Before the climb he would turn Sadoreth loose and hope someone from the valley would find him.

At the base of the cliff, Legolas looked up in disbelief. It rose above them 175 feet, very steep, with outcroppings of rock all up the surface. The incredible futility of Estel's plan caused the first sharpness of mind the elf had had all day.

"Estel, enough of this nonsense. There is no way you are getting me up that cliff. The trees here are old and wise. Let me stay here, and fade in their embrace. I do know, truly I am not unmindful that my going will grieve you…(he had heard the boy in the night, though he had made no sign) …and I am myself grieved that I will not fight by your side, see you find your place, and be your mellon your life long. But we cannot always choose our path, Estel."

Estel slid his arms beneath the elf and carefully lifted him and carried him to one of the trees he had spoken of. He set him down and said simply, "I must dress your wound again." He began to remove the splints and his hands were steady in spite of the moans of pain the elf could no longer hold within.

"Hold now; do not move. There. Well, at least it is not worse than this morning, though that is bad enough. Give me your hand and hold this pad, so. Good. That is enough, take your hand away. Now a little disinfectant…" The elf dug his hands deeply into the dirt beside him. "Nearly done. Once more. Hold! You must not move!... ah, there ...finished." They both relaxed, breathing heavily.

"I must assemble the things we will need in the morning. It will take us all day to make the climb, no doubt, but once at the top, out of the trees, the valley falcons will likely see us. So this is surely the best way. We will begin first thing in the morning. Come, Sadoreth, you can carry whatever I find." He started off.

The elf called after him, "Are you deaf! We are not going anywhere! Even if I were hale it would be a hard climb and I would have to help _you_! Estel, you have gone beyond what anyone could expect. You have tried your best. But it is over. I will be gone by tomorrow night or the next morning for certain."

Estel stalked back to where the elf sat supported against one of his beloved trees.

"Then go! But I will take you up that cliff, dead or alive!" He stormed off into the wood, motioning his horse to follow.

When he returned he had a huge load of vines on his little horse. Sadoreth's head stuck out comically from the rounded mound. Estel pulled them off and set about making ropes for the next day's ordeal. He had one coil of elven rope on his saddle, but it was not enough. For one thing, he would need to bind Legolas securely to the litter, securely enough he could not possibly come loose, and that alone would take many feet.

When he was finished, he brewed more tea from the dwindling supply in his field kit. When Legolas was not watching, he poured a very little tea and half of the poppy syrup that was left into the prince's cup. Then he carried it over to the elf.

"Have a little more tea. The infection is making you dehydrated."

The elf tried to focus his blurring vision on the boy and accepted the cup. But when he raised it to his lips, Estel reached out and tipped it all neatly down his throat. Legolas sputtered and choked and then furiously recognized the taste.

"What have you done! That is too much!" His eyes narrowed as his sluggish mind reasoned out why the boy would give him that much syrup when they had so little left. "What are you going to do? You do not mean to start now!"

"Of course not. Have a nice, pain free rest and you will feel much better."

The elf's eyes glazed against his will and his breathing evened out.

Estel adjusted the elf's cloak and smiled. "Now I will not have to listen to you carry on while I go up the cliff to scout out the situation for tomorrow."

Estel's brothers, Glorfindel, and Legolas had all given him climbing lessons. They had been very thorough since they worried about the human and his lesser capabilities. Therefore, his preparations were careful and well thought out. He took square pads of leather and cut holes and pushed his fingers through them. These would protect his palms and the suede would increase his grip. He went to the base of the cliff and looked up. It was not really sheer, not when you looked closely. He removed his boots and using his belt knive, cut strips from the smooth, worn soles in irregular patterns, hoping the now rough surface would give him a better grip. He planned a route and began. He not only tried to find the best way up but also some ledges where he and Legolas could rest the next day. The rock was very rough, and as he neared the top he had begun to leave shining splotches behind him from numerous cuts and gouges in his hands and limbs. He moved deliberately and slowly and had no mishaps. He made it to the top, pulled himself over, and lay gasping on the cool, blessed grass that grew to the edge. After long minutes he got to his feet and explored, looking for a tree close to the drop off. He found one that was leaning over a little but securely rooted. It was a young, strong tree about a foot in diameter. Legolas would have been appalled at what he did next, but Legolas was not there.

He drew his belt knife and cut the bark in a circle around the trunk. He pulled bark away in strips until he had a wide gap. The circle was about six inches wide and sap began to ooze at once out of the smooth inner bark. He would need this smooth surface to act as the pulley to get the elf up the cliff. There was too great a chance that the outer bark would fray and break even the elven rope after a long time of stressing it.

Estel looked at the ground below him and sighed. He was really too tired to make his way down but he could not leave the drugged elf alone all night. He dangled his legs over the edge and began the descent as the sun lowered toward the horizon.

When his feet hit the base of the cliff he staggered to his friend. Legolas was still sleeping, his eyes closed. Estel could no longer remember how frightened he had been when he saw elves sleeping for the first time, though his brothers delighted in repeating the story. Now he found the elf's closed eyelids terrifying. He touched his friend's cheek. It felt so cold. The lips were slightly blue. Suddenly he could not bear to be near the elf; he had to move or he would howl like a wolf.

He went a short distance from Legolas and told himself to rest a little before he continued with the work that needed to be done. He curled up on the ground and once again allowed the tears that he had suppressed during the day to flow. For a few minutes he would stop trying to be brave enough for two. He would let go of the effort to be determined and confident. He would simply let fear and grief and the pains of his body hold sway.

He could not let himself weep for long, though, for the elf needed him and he _would__not_ yield this battlefield. He clambered up off the ground and staggered to the side of his friend. Legolas seemed still asleep and so Estel went to tend the fire.

Legolas felt the boy's presence and was consumed with a need to speak with him. He was sure he had little time; perhaps a day or two of consciousness—not much more. He was worried he would sink into the final stages with some things left unsaid. He turned his head to see Estel putting more wood on the fire and brewing still more tea. It was all they had in the way of food and it was amazing that the boy was still going strong, or at least seemed to be.

"Estel, will you come here?"

It was the first time that the elf had asked for him and Estel turned quickly. "How may I aid you, gwador?"

"I have somewhat to say to you." The elf drew a deep breath and began. "I have been proud to be your friend, Estel. You have a loving heart, courage enough for an army of men and…" (he continued on in this vein but Estel was not listening).

Estel had had a hard day. He was frightened _all_ the time. He was frightened that his friend would fade and he constantly worried that his decisions, large and small, were not the ones his father or Glorfindel would have made. There was no part of his body that was not sore, or scraped, or bruised, or aching, or all four combined. He responded to his dear friend's words by completely losing his temper.

"Wonderful! So now I must listen to the 'I have been proud to be your friend' speech! Well, you are not proud enough! Not enough to stay with me and see if Adar can do something for you! I am sure he can get you on a horse again even if you cannot run through the trees! If you can ride, you can shoot a bow! And even if you could not – is that all you are! Just another body to fight and die for Mirkwood? They have many! Do you not think that maybe some of us love to hear you sing? That we might want to hear your thoughts on deep subjects? Some of us desire your counsel, not only your quiver! We want your love, not only your bow! Are you so arrogant that you can only live as perfection? I must go through every day in Imladris with my nose rubbed in _my_ imperfections! And how many times have you said to me, 'there is more to you than how fast you climb trees; more than how far you see', and on and _on_ and ON! AAAAAARGH! You…you…ELF you! Take your own counsel, my friend! I have had enough! I am done!"

He stomped off to make repairs to the litter but his shaking body interfered. He sat down with a thump and put his face in his hands and prayed for patience and the strength to do what must yet be done. He was as frightened as he had ever been in his life, and the one who had always helped him with his fears now seemed the enemy to be fought. /I need your belief that I can do this, but you deny me./

After an hour or so, cold and stiff, Estel got to his feet. He repaired the litter by firelight, checking every joint and tie and each piece of wood for cracks and splits. Since it was no longer a horse litter he cut five feet off each side, above the first cross-piece. He then went to the elf with a warmed cup.

"Do you want a little more to drink? This is the last of the tea. Tomorrow it is just water for us." Estel slipped an arm behind the elf and lifted him so that he could drink. The elf turned his head and accepted the cup but his hand shook and the contents slopped over the edge. The young man covered his friend's hand with his own and helped steady the cup to the blue lips. He continued with difficulty, "Legolas….forgive me. I am sorry I said those things. You are my brother; I am ashamed that I spoke so. Do you remember when you told me you were afraid of my dying, that being a friend to a man was a hard thing for an elf? Neither of us could imagine then that you would go first. Now I find that same fear in me. That is why I will not let you go without fighting with all that I am."

The elf spoke softly, with understanding. "I know. I know this is very hard for you, Estel. You will do as your heart bids you and I…" Legolas sighed in defeat. He doubted there would be any force on Arda that could withstand this man. Even fading, he could not. "I will agree to this much: I will not hinder you tomorrow and I will try to remain until I have been seen by Elrond. Then I will leave you, but at least you will know nothing could be done. Will you then let me go?"

"Yes."

They both knew he lied, but the elf was too worn to pursue it. "Go to sleep, Estel. Since you are determined to risk yourself trying to get both of us up the cliff, you need some rest."

Without another word the boy once again lay against his friend and they both took what comfort they could from the contact.

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End chapter 3


	4. Heat, Hammer, Quench

**Ch. 4 Heat, Hammer, Quench**

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Since Estel had found the perfect tree at the top of the cliff, the plan he had for the next day was simple: go up the cliff, throw a rope around the tree, come back down and pull the elf up. Nothing to it.

At dawn he began the first climb. It went much faster than the day before as he knew which path to take. He tossed the rope around the tree and began the climb down.

An hour later, Estel finished the last knot while Legolas complained at the tightness of his bindings. "I have no circulation! You had better get me up there quickly or my leg will have three friends!"

"For someone who is dying you have a great deal to say!"

Worried about the arduous trial to come, Estel tested each knot once more. He had allowed Legolas' arms some freedom since the elf would have to fend himself off the cliff wall at times, but the torso and legs were securely bound to the litter. Estel had debated endlessly with himself about the best position for the elf and finally bound him partially twisted. Legolas' shoulders were flat against the litter but his hips turned sideways with both knees bent and tied snugly together. Over the top of all, vine rope wound around and around until very little of the elf's clothing could be seen.

Satisfied with his rope work, the man pulled the litter upright against the cliff. He tied the running end of the cliff rope to the top of the litter, tested the knot again and again, and then looked at his friend and taunted, "Have you ever wanted to fly, elf?" He laughed at the expression that flared in the blue eyes that met his. It was the most emotion he had seen since the elf had told him he would fade.

Estel hurried up the now familiar cliff. He grasped the rope as it came around the tree and hauled with all his might. He offered thanks to Illuvitar that elves weighed less than men. He doubted he could have raised a man, no matter how strong his will. At the bottom of the cliff the litter quivered, the top came away from the wall and then the whole thing lifted off the ground and swung dizzily. Legolas found that he was not so far along the road to The Halls of Waiting as he had thought as he alternately prayed to Elbereth and swore at the young man above him. His hands gripped the litter sides with knuckles stark white and straining at the skin that covered them. Estel repelled down until he was next to his friend. He did not bother to ask, "Are you all right?" No one could be all right in this situation.

"Here is what we will do. I will pull you up a way, until you get stuck. Then I will get you loose and pull some more. We keep doing that until we reach the top. Simple." Estel braced his feet in deep cracks and began to pull on the rope. The litter swayed and creaked upward. When it jammed on an outcropping, Estel climbed the rope to reach his friend and to pull the litter away from the wall. He had to be careful to keep his weight on the rope at all times, as he was the counterweight to the litter. His arms and shoulders began to ache and they were only a few feet off the ground. He had discarded the leather coverings for his hands. He would take no chance on the rope slipping through his grip. Bit by bit they inched their way up. Within an hour Estel was groaning from tiredness and the strain on his body. Legolas had screamed once, shockingly loud, when the litter had spun and his wounded leg hit the rocks.

One third of the way up there was a small ledge. Estel wrapped the rope around a jutting rock fragment and leaned his head against the cliff wall. His breath was not just ragged, it was a knife in his chest. His hands hung limply from his knees and blood dripped onto the stone beneath them. Legolas, propped so very precariously against the cliff wall, looked with pity upon the human.

After a long time, Estel raised his head and said, "I am ready to go on." He unwrapped the rope, put his weight on it again, braced his feet, and heaved. The fragile litter shivered and moved upward, bumping and scraping along the wall. The elf clamped his lips tightly together; there would be no more screams.

It took nearly all day to reach the top. There were many pauses for Estel to rest. There were many times when the litter jammed so tightly that Estel despaired of ever getting it free. When he finally pulled the litter over the edge onto the grass, Estel fell to earth and did not move. Legolas strained against his bonds but of course could not get loose; he could not help the boy. When an hour went by and the boy still had not moved, Legolas did the only he thing he could think of. "Estel, help me. I need help, please!"

There was still no movement for long seconds, then the dark head slowly rose. "Legolas?" His voice was a hoarse whisper. He pulled himself along the ground and began to pluck weakly at the vines confining his friend.

"Estel." The elf said gently. "Your knife."

"Oh…knife." He pulled his dagger and awkwardly cut his friend's arms completely free. Then the blade slipped from his hand and his head hit the ground again. Legolas managed to reach the knife and continued freeing himself. He sighed, looking at the exhausted boy. /I will fade later. Now I must take care of this stubborn child./ He crawled off the litter and pulled bandages from inside the boy's tunic where they had been stored for the climb. He dressed the hands that would be scarred for life. He then laid his head next to Estel and they spent the next few hours lying there together, each trying to recruit enough strength to help the other.

When the moon was high in the sky, Estel slowly sat up. His body creaked and complained bitterly at the movement. He touched the throat of the elf next to him and gave a relieved sigh.

The pulse still beat firmly against his fingertips. He looked about with a pleased expression. He had done it! Although he hoped he never saw another cliff in his entire lifetime.

He struggled to his knees and began to tend the elf. He pulled the few medical supplies they had left from the places he had stowed them on his body. The elf gave no sign of returning consciousness. Estel unwrapped the wound and his heart sank. The elf must be fading indeed, for he saw no indication of the vaunted healing powers. The torn flesh stank and the swelling was worse each time he dressed it. He needed water to cleanse it and their lone waterskin had been emptied by the time they were half-way up the cliff. They would have to move on without waiting for morning.

Estel's bandaged hands had great difficulty braiding wide flat straps from the rope that had pulled the litter up the cliff. He finally got them finished and attached them to the litter. They would loop around each of his shoulders. In a fog of exhaustion he carried the elf back to his horrible home and put their pathetically few belongings on it with him He wrapped their two cloaks—what remained of them—around the elf and hoisted the end of the litter off the ground. He worked his arms into the straps and leaned into them. They held and the litter began to move.

If the cliff was a challenge, Estel now began an ordeal that would try his soul. Within an hour the straps had rubbed his shoulders raw and the effort of pulling the litter was greater than he could have imagined. It was now at too high an angle for the best traveling and got hung up on the slightest obstruction. Estel would lean back to get some slack and then hit the straps hard, trying to heave the cursed thing free. Again and again. On through the rest of the night. He no longer knew which direction they went, only instinct kept him headed toward Imladris. He repeatedly fell to his knees, sobbing in pain and weakness, only to rise again and keep trudging on. His world had narrowed to himself, the litter, and the ground before his feet. He found a stream by stumbling down the bank into it. The cold, spring-fed water brought him to full awareness for the first time since reaching the top of the cliff. He was on hands and knees in the water with the litter kept dry by his back. He lowered his face, then his entire head, into the water that was at the level of his elbows. He drank deeply and then shook flying droplets from his hair like a dog. He got again to his feet and sidled to the side of the wide stream, the litter scrunching through the gravel of the streambed. He unharnessed himself and laid the litter down. He made a cup for Legolas by folding a large leaf that hung from a bush by the streamside. He took the elf's face in his hands and begged him to return to consciousness. When Legolas did not respond, he tapped one cheek sharply. The eyes opened and Estel saw recognition but received no other response. The water the boy offered returned to the stream by way of the elf's chin. He would not open his mouth. Estel whispered fiercely, "Ada told me that when I was dying you cried that you would go to The Halls of Waiting and hail me forth. Do you think I will do less for you? Fade if you insist, but look for no rest there! Neither Namo nor you will know a moment's peace!"

The boy climbed to his feet and looked at the wide, shallow stream. If the previous hours' travel were any indication, he would fall about fifty times in the crossing of it. Whether on the litter or in his arms, the elf would be sure to be soaked. He turned back to Legolas and began stripping him. When he was finished he looked in despair at the long, pale body. He might as well be tending a man; there was no glow at all that he could see. The flesh had gone past cool to clammy coldness. He stood again, resolutely. He had little time. He scrambled over the slippery rocks, carrying their cloaks and the elf's clothing to the other side. He returned and hefted the top of the litter to his back. He would use his hands instead of the straps to try to keep from tipping the elf into the water. He failed. Legolas was flipped into the cold water after a particularly hard jerk on the litter. As it had for Estel, the shock brought the elf to full consciousness. Sputtering and choking, he complained while Estel heaved him by the shoulders back onto his soaking bed.

"Are you trying to drown me? Is it not enough that I - "

"You should have drunk when I asked; I always get my way. You have had a nice drink now!"

The elf started to protest further but stopped abruptly. After a short pause he spoke again, hesitantly.

"Estel?"

"Yes."

"Why am I naked?"

"What?"

"Why am I _naked_?"

Estel stood over the elf. He looked up at the stars. He looked at the woods at the other side of the stream, at the splinted leg that was visibly swollen, at his hands, and, in his imagination, the leagues that still stood between them and succor. He looked again at the naked elf. He chuckled. He stopped himself in shock. He chuckled again. Then he began to laugh. To howl with laughter, tears running down his cheeks, gasping to get his breath. He braced his hands on his knees and laughed and laughed and laughed. Legolas, appalled and a little frightened, raised himself up and slapped the boy with all the strength he had left. The laughter stopped short.

"Ow! Why did you do that!"

"It is what you do when someone is hysterical."

"Who told you that!"

"Erestor. He said he has often used it with elleth."

"Ah! Well, that explains why he is not bound."

"I still do not know why I am naked, Estel."

"Because I am having such a good time tramping through the woods with you that I thought I would express my high spirits with a prank, you purblind maypole!"

"Oh."

"Hold on; I have to get us out of here." The boy hauled and pulled and jerked and fell until they were safely on the other side. He snatched at the clothes and tied them to the litter. He once again unfastened the splints and cleaned the wound. It was no worse. Was that a good sign or a bad one? Legolas no longer seemed to feel the pain of it and that must surely be a very bad sign. He dressed the wound with the last bandage he had.

He went to the front of the litter and raised it. Pain knifed into his arms and shoulders. He shrugged back into his harness and started dragging the litter again, moving into the forest. The elf questioned him from his platform. "Do I get my clothes back soon, Estel?"

"When you and the litter are dry. I have not time nor material to dry you myself so the wind will have to take care of it for me."

"I will be cold."

"You are already cold."

"Ah."

The elf subsided into his lassitude and after a time, again into unconsciousness. Estel plowed grimly on. At least he was alert again and relieved to see that he was still headed for home. By the end of the next day they would run into border patrols even if they were not spotted by search parties or falcons. Only twelve hours and they would have help. Only twelve. Or more if luck went against them.

When the elf was dry Estel stopped and dressed him and covered him with the cloaks again. When he straightened from his task such dizziness struck him that he had to sit down quickly next to the litter. He waited several minutes, his head resting close to Legolas'. It felt so wonderful to rest. He was so tired. Tired beyond any imagining. Tired and wracked with pain from so many sources, each clamoring to be first in his attention. And then there was the fear. The fear that ate at him every step of the way. What the hell did he think he was doing? He was fifteen years old and trying to save the life of one of the Firstborn. Who did not want to be saved. He had so little skill, was still so untrained and untried as a healer. He was no strong warrior, no wise sage. The Valar had chosen their tool poorly indeed if they expected the prince to live.

Estel began to tremble. At first it was nothing more than he had endured from time to time during this entire unending journey. But then the trembles changed into something far worse. His outraged muscles began to cramp. All of them. At one time. His body bent backward like a hoop as he was held in an iron fist of agony. The cords in neck, wrists, and ankles stood out, starkly outlined under stretched skin. He could pull in only the smallest amount of air and the only sound he could make (though screams were what the pain demanded) was a low, grinding groan, like two ancient millstones moving against each other.

"Estel…Estel, what is it, what is wrong?" The elf had paused in his descent into oblivion at the sounds of need from the only one who could still force his attention. The boy had a claim on him; he would do what he could, little though that would be.

After a seeming eternity the cramp began to ease. The elf reached a hand, very slowly, and grasped the boy's fingers. Estel returned the clasp, and clung desperately as the pain finally subsided. He was left so weak that an Orc could have munched on his foot and he would have been unable to stop it.

The elf gathered his strength and tried again to make Estel see reason. "You must rest a little and then go on alone. You must leave me here. You will die if you continue this foolish emprise. Do not make me take such a burden to Namo. I will never repent enough to leave his Halls if your blood is on my head."

Whisper answered whisper: "No."

"Then, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, hear this:" The elf's voice gathered strength and passion, "I and Elrond, the twins, Glorfindel, Mithrandir; ALL of us, swore an oath to protect you that you might one day save Middle Earth from darkness. Will you make me foresworn? Will you make me take _that_ to Valinor? To be the only one of my House so dishonored?"

"You are not forsworn. It is my decision to continue or not." The young man spoke flatly, "I will take you home or we will greet Namo together."

"Then I have no choice but to tell you the truth you have always suspected. It is true that I pretend to care for you, in order to be close to the future king that I swore to protect. It is as you said: We are not brutes. We hoped you would believe we cared for you for your own sake. But I am sorry, Estel, but no elf can truly care for a man. How could they?"

The hand in Legolas' hand became still as death. Then the fingers were slowly pulled away. /Now he will go./ As the fingertips softly brushed his own in their withdrawal, the elf fought a desperate need to renew their clasp. He wondered why his heart ached so when he had obtained his desire.

But Estel moved back into his line of vision. He reached out a finger and caught a tear that fell from deep blue eyes. He brought the tear to his lips and tasted it. He smiled with love shining in his countenance. "I do now as you once did in my poppy-wrought delusions. But the other-you desired my heart's breaking and I but witness yours. Your tears belie you, Legolas. I will not ever believe those lies again."

The elf smiled weakly. "I am not strong enough to be sorry, gwador nin. Now will you please give me my wish and leave me?"

"No."

Enough time had passed since Estel's attack that he was able to climb to his feet.

"Is there anything I can do for you before we continue?"

"Leave me and save your life."

Estel sighed and once again hauled the litter to his back.

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Elrohir broke the intense gaze between himself and the bird that rested on his vambrace. He tossed the falcon in the air and it took wing, circled the elf's company, and then flew in a northerly direction. Elrohir motioned after the bird, "Follow her!"

His lieutenant protested, "My lord, there is no reason why they would go that way! We will waste valuable time!"

"We have quartered these foothills and found nothing, as Elladan has the higher slopes. Glorfindel is almost to Mirkwood. There has been no sign of either of them. Eruin says she has seen strange tracks and dead wolves. We follow her."

He turned to his horse but before mounting he rested his head against its neck and closed his eyes. His elves went silent, sitting their horses and waiting for him. After several moments he raised his head and sprang on the horse that was already moving forward.

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Elladan bent over the hoof he held cradled in one hand. "Ah, now! Hold still! I have almost got it – there!" He disgustedly flicked out a stone that had wedged between the metal shoe and the frog of the hoof. He sheathed his dagger and suddenly froze. His eyes glazed and he dropped the hoof he had been holding. Then he reared upright and shouted, "North! We ride north!"

When his second galloped alongside and questioned Elladan, the twin shook his head. "We can send but the vaguest impressions. I only know we are to go north."

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End chapter 4


	5. Found

Title: Buried: Ascension

Author: Pentangle

Estel is fifteen years old.

This story follows "Buried: Descent" and "Buried: Revelation" and is the last in the series.

**Found**

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Two groups of elves galloped closer and closer together. One climbed from the south-west and the gentle foothills, the other swept down from the south-east and the steeper slopes there. They met as a thundering arrowhead, with two identical riders racing well to the fore, their faces hopeful and determined.

They followed a bird that now began to circle down to the ground. The foremost riders pulled up hard close to where she rested. Off to their right, in the distance, was a lone butte rising from the plain. To the left was open ground dotted with small woods. The dark-haired elves took different paths to the bird, looking closely at the ground. What they found astounded them and filled them with hope; Elladan recognized them first.

"These are Sadoreth's. And Estel's! Thank Elbereth, we have found him! But what is this, this gouge, going with them?"

"There are two! See here, where the ground is softer? It is a litter!"

"Then Legolas is badly injured. Estel at least is on his feet."

"We do not know it is Legolas."

"Who else? At least we have found them. And Estel was able to walk and make a litter. Ada must know. Send word every way and we will follow the trail."

The two instructed several of their number to carry messages to all who needed to know the lost had been, if not found, at least localized. Then they mounted again and followed a trail that needed neither careful scrutiny nor a slow pace to decipher.

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Estel was lying flat on the ground. The litter was on top of him. This made how many? The two thousandth time he had fallen? Maybe he should stop getting up. They would be found soon. Very soon. All of Imladris must be searching for them. He would just stay here and soon someone would come with water and horses and sweet, sweet rest. They would take Legolas from him and cure him. His burden would be lifted; his friend would live. He would just wait right here.

Except he could not. Even as he lay there his hands made weak movements, reaching forward. He pushed himself off the ground again, struggling to raise himself and the litter. When he finally managed it he staggered forward two steps. Pause. Three fast steps that ended as he leaned on a tree-trunk. Pushed off. Five more steps. Litter caught on a tree root. Lean back, then jerk. Jerk! It came loose suddenly—pushed him eight fast, stumbling steps. Pause. Breath is fire. Muscles are fire. All is torment. Plod six more steps. Trip over rock. Crash to earth.

How long had it been since he had heard any sign of life from the elf? His boots were full of blood and the bandages on his hands were black with it. His face looked like he had been on the losing end of a hundred fights.

He pulled his knife and cut the straps that bound him to the litter. He was finished; he could not stand again. He crawled from under the litter and pulled himself to Legolas' face. He felt the elf's throat and shifted his fingers about in growing fear when he felt nothing. He placed his cheek above the elf's mouth and again felt nothing. After increasingly desperate searching he finally felt a faint movement beneath his fingers and leaned his forehead against Legolas' shoulder, shaking with relief. "You live, but I do not think I can go any further, gwador nin. Forgive me…You chose ill when you said you would be my friend. You were wrong; it is not a hard thing for an elf to be friends with a man—it is a deadly thing. Were I even peredhil, I would have the strength to save you."

Legolas made no response. Estel tried to rest but could not. His brother still lived. Barely, but he lived. The boy gave a sob of exhausted rebellion but his spirit would not let him rest while the elf still drew breath. He crawled to the front of the litter and looped his swordbelt through the top cross-piece. He buckled the belt around him again with fumbling fingers. He got to his hands and knees with the top of the litter on his back—he looked like a bizarre turtle whose shell was sliding off. He moved his right hand forward, then his left knee. Left hand, right knee. Right hand, left knee. Again. Again. Slowly he continued on.

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Elladan looked up the cliff. "They went up. How, I do not know, but the tracks stop here. Sadoreth went that way with no rider. He has been turned loose. Should we do the same and follow them up the cliff?"

Elrohir pointed south. "Mounted, we can get to the path that leads upward in an hour. Estel could not have gotten the litter up that track, but we will easily gain back the time once we are on top of the plateau."

A voice shouted down to the twins from half-way up the cliff. Three of their scouts had been sent up to see what sign there might be. "My lords! There are many places where the something made of wood scraped the rock! And there is blood, especially on this ledge!"

"Elven or human?"

"Human!"

"Elladan, we must hurry!" Without waiting for agreement Elrohir headed his horse along the cliff-face. The rest of the company pounded in his wake.

Three hours later they examined the streamside where Estel had crossed. The sign was very fresh; they were close indeed! They galloped on into the light of early evening.

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As dusk fell, Elladan was on one knee in the middle of the tracks made by the errant friends. He delicately touched an odd-looking depression and then raised his fingers and tasted them. He was puzzled.

"Leather and blood. But what kind of print is this?"

"Let us not take the time to riddle the answer! We are so close they may be around the next bend."

"You are right. We must slow our pace or we will ride them down."

They jogged slowly for another half an hour. As they came around yet another rock outcropping they pulled up in amazement. Before them they saw a litter with Legolas tied onto it. It moved very, very slowly, but they could not see its means of locomotion. The twins dismounted and walked quickly around only to freeze again. Their brother, the fifteen year old human, crawled on his hands and knees under the litter. He left blood behind in every print, and his breath wheezed and whistled. He whispered, his voice so hoarse it hurt the twins' throats just to hear him, "Forgive me…………..forgive me."

Elladan grasped the top of the litter as Elrohir stooped down and gently took his brother's shoulders.

"Estel! Stop! We are here! We are late come, but we are here. Your journey is done."

Estel made no sign he heard and put forth one hand again.

"Cut the litter free, Elrohir, and I will set Legolas down. Here! You!" Elladan shouted at the elves that hung back, not sure what to do. "Make a two horse litter as fast as you can. Get some water over here and some bandages!"

When they took the litter from Estel's back, he cried out and grabbed at it desperately. Elladan grasped his brother around the shoulders and pulled him around so they were face to face. "Estel, let us take him. We are your brothers. Look at me!"

Elladan's commanding voice finally got through to the boy and he whispered, "Elladan? You have come? I knew you would. I knew you would…." He released his burden and greeted oblivion with a sob of welcome.

His brothers gently laid him on his back and gasped at what they saw. Blood, yes, that they expected, but not the tiny white glimpses of bone and tendon that shone through shredded leggings and what amounted to minced human.

"_Elbereth_! How did he - I cannot believe he was still moving!"

"That damned prince had better be all right!" swore Elrohir. He looked to the other elves that were tending Legolas. His heart sank at their sorrowful faces. He straightened up.

"Make that litter big enough for two. Estel cannot ride, even with one of us."

Now that the lost had been found, help began to appear from all quarters. A group of elves from the Imladris side came up, with Sadoreth running along with them, and as the trek to Imladris began, the rest of the original search parties joined them one by one. Only Glorfindel's troop was too far away to join in bringing the two friends home.

It was decided to forego horse litters as too rough, even the two-horse variety where the litter was suspended between two horses. Stretchers were made and manned by elves who fought for a turn to take the wounded home. As the word of Estel's feat spread, silent awe replaced the worried mutterings. A child! A human child to do such a thing!

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Elrond waited on the steps of his House. A fast outrider had brought news of Estel's incredible journey. His face was stern as he prepared himself to deal with what he would find. He would believe Estel would recover when he had seen him with his own eyes, the twins' assurances notwithstanding. He was also concerned as he did not know the extent of Legolas' injury. The elves tending him had decided not to remove the splints when Legolas would be in Elrond's care so soon anyway. This turned out to be a very good thing.

When the bearers came in sight, Elrond drew a deep breath and braced himself. He ran down the steps and to Estel's stretcher. He gave no sign of the distress the boy's many injuries caused him as he checked over his son quickly and efficiently. The vital signs were weak but essentially sound. His hurts were grave enough, but could wait a little while to be tended. He frowned, worried about the condition of the boy's hands, for they were badly damaged though the bleeding had stopped. He did not try to awaken his son as his swoon was not deep and would spare him some of the pain of treatment.

Elrond turned to Legolas and started to cut the bindings on the splints. It was a very odd arrangement and made it impossible to see the wound. His knife was touching the leather cords when a hoarse croak made him spin around to view his son again.

"No!...Careful... Not straighten…Do not …"

Elrond hurried to Estel's side. He very gently caressed a bruised cheek. "Hush, ion nin, you are home and safe. You are both safe now. Be easy. Let me judge the extent of Legolas' injury and then I will return to you –"

The boy raised a shaking, mangled hand to stop his father. His voice grated like sand on stone. "Do not…straighten….houghed…"

Elrond gasped and spun again, to face Legolas. Houghed! That explained why one leg wound had left a strong warrior near death. Just what one would expect from the get of Thranduil! Mirkwood elves, perhaps with reason, were quick to despair and leave Middle Earth when confronted with the cruelties of fate. Well, Legolas would be surprised. Elrond felt that fading was over-rated and over-done. Sentimental nonsense! He, Elrond, had had more than a few reasons to fade over the ages but had not. It was not inevitable. The Mirkwood elf would not fade on his watch!

He turned back to Estel. He spoke slowly and firmly to reassure his son. "I have heard you. He has been houghed. Do not worry; I will not remove the splints until I have the leg immobilized. You have done very, very well. I am so proud of you, my valiant son." He tenderly drew his hand down, closing the lids on the feverish eyes. "Sleep now, Estel. Sleep……sleep…"

"I hate when…you do…that…" The eyelids twitched but remained closed.

The elf lord bent and kissed the filthy, bloodied forehead. He whispered, "I know."

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For the next several hours the healers worked over Estel and Legolas. As much as Elrond wanted to tend his son, Legolas' need was more immediate. The elf lord set up the surgery and with two healers maintaining some bend in the leg, he carefully, by the smallest increments, began to clean the wound. It would need freshening and he planned the amount of tissue to remove as he cleaned deeper and deeper. When the full damage was revealed he probed very cautiously. Surely that white band was the main ligament and it was _not_ completely severed! He checked again and again from different angles. It was true. The knife had bitten deeply, but not quite deeply enough. Either the villain's heart was not in the business or the Valar nudged his aim the smallest bit awry. Since most of the muscles had been severed, Legolas could not be blamed for thinking the worst had happened. Elrond began the most delicate, most demanding suturing, using every skill he had developed as well as his Valar given Power. It would still mean a long and difficult recovery, with the possibility of a permanent limp. But the limb would be strong and useful again. He made multiple layers of sutures: the minor tendons, the deeper muscles, the more superficial muscles, and finally the skin. At long last he threw off his bloody robe, cleaned his hands, and went to see Estel.

He sat down anxiously by his son and examined every bandage and tending for the most miniscule deficiency. He found none and contented himself with smoothing the perennially tangled hair. The silver eyes opened and the boy smiled crookedly with his swollen mouth.

"Ada…How glad I am to see you! How is Legolas?"

"We will get to that in a moment. How do you feel?"

"Terrible."

"Can you be more specific?"

"Hands: hurt. Feet: hurt. Arms: hurt. Legs: hurt. Head: hurts. Face: hurts. Back:-"

"Hmmm. Yes, I believe I understand the general trend. I will give you something more for the pain and to make you sleep. The tea is being made now. But before it gets here, I have some good news for you."

"Legolas?"

"Yes. First of all, because you splinted the leg the way you did, and _only_ because of that, the main ligament did not completely sever on your journey and he will ride and shoot as well as ever. He may have a slight limp, but that will be all. Most anyone else would have splinted his leg straight, if they even used splints. Why did you treat him the way you did?"

"I am not really sure. After I cleaned the wound I put my hands on him, as you do." He sighed. "Nothing happened—it did not cure him. But I did get a strong feeling not to straighten the leg, so I splinted it bent like that."

"That _is_ the power in you, Estel. It does not always heal directly; sometimes it tells you what you must do. And I myself could not have put together severed ligaments, my son. It is well that you know that we with the gift have many limitations."

"What else about Legolas? You said, 'First of all..'"

"Second of all, he is not going to fade any time soon. I _do_ have enough power to keep him here until we make him see reason."

"Thank Elbereth!" the boy said reverently.

"Indeed. And thanks to you, as well, Estel. Do you have any comprehension of what you have done?"

"Am I going to be punished?"

His father stared at him in astonishment. "_Punished_? For what? Saving someone's life? And even if I deemed it necessary," he looked at the many injuries Estel had taken while trying to save his friend, "in my darkest nightmares I could not conceive of inflicting so much pain upon you." He started to say more but was interrupted by a truly gargantuan yawn. The ruler of Imladris looked a little abashed as he quickly covered his mouth.

"You need a nap, sleepy one!" Estel teased his father with a phrase heard far too often in his younger years.

Elrond smiled. "Perhaps, ion nin, but I have many things yet to do. First, though, I had to make sure you were well cared for, and I could not leave you wondering about Legolas. But as soon as your tea gets here, you are the one who will sleep."

Elrond hesitated, but he had never been one to shirk unpleasant duties. "Estel, you also have been badly injured." He stroked the boy's face, his fingers feather-light on purple bruises. "I will need to repair your knees and especially your hands. Not today. Not until most of the swelling is gone so that I may see better what needs to be done, but soon, Estel. I am sorry, ion, but I will have to perform surgery on you."

Estel smiled twistedly at him. "This is a good time to tell me for I cannot imagine being more

miserable than I am right now. Do not be sad, Ada. I know you will make me good as new."

His father dearly wanted to gather his courageous child into his arms but was afraid he would cause too much pain. He contented himself with continuing to smooth the dark hair but had to pause to cover another yawn.

Estel coaxed sweetly, "Ada, my bed is wide and the pillows soooo soft. Come and sleep with me, just for a little. No one can throw _you_ out!"

"You tempt me, but I cannot –"

His son broke in with a long, sad sigh. "Oh well then, if my Ada cannot stay with me, if he does not love me enough to spend just a few minutes singing me to sleep, I will just stay here alone. Alone and in terrible pain, wanting my Ada…" His voice faded off in an artful, barely audible whimper.

"You are shameless!"

"I am. Is it working?" Estel laughed up at his father. But the laughter faded and the boy's eyes held all the fear and uncertainty and pain he had endured since he left his home to find his friend. He whispered, "Please, Ada."

Without another word the elf lord removed his shoes, letting them fall where they would, and climbed into the bed next to his son. Estel turned his head into his father's shoulder and began to weep though he made no sound, only the tremors in his shoulders giving him away. Elrond smoothed the boy's hair with one hand and hugged Estel to him with the other. He whispered words of love and pride. "Hush, hush now, my heart. All is well; you are home. I am here and will not leave you. All is well; you have saved your friend. Ah, such joy is mine to have such a son! Shhhh, do not weep, my dear son. Your trial is over; you have won your prize. You have the love, the courage, and the strength of my brother. How proud he must be of you! But not so proud as I…" Through his pride and relief, Elrond's heart ached. Estel had just made a tremendous leap into adulthood, though he did not yet know it. This might be the last time the child—for so he still was to his father—would accept this kind of comfort. Elrond's arms tightened around his son and his own eyes glistened.

When Estel finally slept, his father did not leave him.

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End Chapter 5


	6. Conversations

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Ch. 6 Conversations

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Elladan and Elrohir visited with Legolas the day after his surgery. They stood by the side of the bed, observing their friend's pale countenance and the raised covers that lay over his injured leg; the Mirkwood elf's lower leg was fixed within a wooden frame. The three chatted a bit, awkwardly making sick room conversation, then Elladan began to move about the room fiddling with small objects and frowning. Legolas quickly tired of his restlessness and asked what was wrong. "Out with it. What are you keeping inside with such difficulty, Elladan?"

"You were not conscious when we found you." The Mirkwood prince nodded. "So we would like to tell you what we saw."

Elrohir took up the tale. "We came around some rocks and saw you strapped to a litter. We could not see what drew it. Do you know why?"

"No. No one has spoken with me much about yesterday. When Lord Elrond came to examine me this morning he was rather…stern…and your healers seem to have become quite reserved since last I stayed in the healing rooms."

"Some of the reason for that could be that most here are quite fond of Estel." Legolas frowned but before he could speak Elrohir continued. "We could not see what drew the litter because our little brother was on his hands and knees with the thing strapped to his back. We had been tracking the two of you, and we could not figure out why there were such odd prints with blood in them."

Legolas became even paler than the surgery and fading had left him. He whispered, horrified, "What!"

Elladan nodded grimly. "You heard him. We figure that once over the cliff he dragged you 9 miles. First on his feet, and when he could no longer do that, on his hands and knees. A human. A _fifteen_ year-old human. That was after he somehow got you up the cliff, of course."

Elrohir continued, "That part of the plateau is very rough and stony. We saw the bones in his knees, Legolas. His hands looked like the ground meat we put in the Solstice pies. We are telling you this because we want you to understand something." One twin sat down on each side of the bed. They leaned in toward the prince's face and said with deadly seriousness, "You will not fade. Estel did something beyond anything we have heard of so that you would live. If you should be so lacking in grace and gratitude and love for such a one as our brother that you fade anyway, we will go to the Halls and bring you forth. Not with tears and pleadings of love and friendship, as he would, but dragging you by the hair! We will throw you at his feet."

Legolas sank back against his pillows before the glacial grey eyes. He could not maintain eye contact with his accusers and dropped his gaze. His pale cheeks were now stained with color and he was silent a long time. At last he whispered his response. "Lord Elrond told me little of what I have done to Estel. I am deeply shamed. I fought him so hard. I was so sure that there could be nothing for me. That life would not be worth living. I did nothing to help him. He said I was arrogant; it is true. I have much to answer for. Be assured: I will not fade." He gave a tiny smile; a mere twitch at the corners of his mouth. "It appears to be very difficult to fade in Imladris." He sobered again. "He has called me his qwador but I wonder if he will feel differently now, now that I have been the cause of his misery." The elf swallowed hard and forced out with great difficulty, "I left him alone. He needed me and I left him alone. When he spoke to me I could hear despair and grief and loneliness; yet I did nothing. I kept myself from him deliberately. I was the noble, fading elf!" He gave a sudden, choking sob. "I left a child alone to move a mountain. A child whom I have stated, time and again, that I love!"

The twins sat back slightly, and the dangerous glint in their eyes was replaced with relief. Elrohir took one of the prince's hands. "You understand, then. We were afraid you were bent on fading and would not listen to us. We could not let you do that to Estel. Or to us, Legolas. Our brother is not the only one who would grieve if you left Middle Earth. We also wanted to be sure you understood what Estel has done."

"I will never forget." He thought a bit and then said, "I cannot go to him and he cannot come to me. I must speak with him; will you take me to him?"

"Tomorrow will be soon enough. Ada will skin us if we move you so soon after surgery. We will tell Estel you are asking about him, though."

"Thank you."

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Legolas found no rest that night. He thought through those parts of the journey he could remember. He recalled soft sobbing in the night and pain-filled gasping as bloody hands pulled him up the cliff. He remembered a boy who took care that he might not have to wear soaked clothing even as Estel fell repeatedly into frigid water fully clothed. He heard a whisper that cut like a knife: '_Were I even peredhil, I would have the strength to save you.'_

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The next day Elladan and Elrohir carried Legolas on a stretcher to Estel's room and placed the prince next to his friend. They teased the two bedridden ones a bit, made sure both patients were as comfortable as it was possible for them to be, and then left to stand outside and guard the door. There would be no interruptions for this conversation.

When he first came into the room, Legolas had glanced at the thick bandages on Estel's hands and the large lumps under the blanket where his knees were, and then looked away. But when the twins left he leaned forward from his cot and began to touch the boy. His hands shook as he laid his fingers lightly on bruised cheeks and split lip; black eyes and cut forehead; knees, hands, shoulders, and feet. He laid his fingers long moments on each hurt, as with eyes closed he imagined Estel's pain. He took a painful inventory, setting in memory forever the wounds taken to preserve his life.

Estel watched uncertainly. "Legolas? What—"

"Hush, Estel. I am not finished." The elf continued until he ended with the boy's feet. Then he looked up. "I thank you for my life. I did not know how foolish and selfish I was being, but I do now. I promise you I will not fade."

Estel clasped one of the elf's hands between his clumsy white mitts and cried, "Thank you, gwador nin, thank you! I was so frightened that I would lose you."

"I will continue to thank you for what you have done, but there is something else you must hear and understand at once."

"You are not going to cut yourself again?" Estel asked in some trepidation.

"What? No! No. Listen. Do you know why I am still here, Estel?"

"Because you were not hurt as badly as you thought?" (Estel could be forgiven for a fair amount of 'I told you so!' in his voice.)

"No. I am here because you are Estel and because you are a man. A single-minded, froward man. I am going to say something you will not like, but it is true. Your brothers, whom I have known for hundreds of years, would not have fought as you did, once I told them I was going to fade." Estel started to object but Legolas stopped him. "No, listen to me. They would have, how did you put it? Sat by me like 'beautiful, sad, drooping lilies'. Even your Adar, if I had truly been houghed, would have let me go. He would have tried to dissuade me, but he would have let me go eventually. An elf understands these things, but you do not. And your heart is stronger and more fierce in battle against what you believe to be wrong than Glorfindel facing a Nazgul. Hear me, Estel: I am alive this day because you are Estel. Because you would not give up. Because your spirit burns with a candescent flame and I do not believe there is any power on Arda that can quench it. It will take you where you must go, even if Morgoth himself bars the way. If you were an elf, I would be dead by now" He paused and then repeated, his eyes firmly fixed on Estel's, "If you were an elf I would be dead. Do you understand me?"

Estel looked deep into blue eyes and saw truth. "I think I have found the answer to a question that has troubled me." He smiled warmly and pressed again the hand caught between his bandages. "And who else but you to help me find it? Thank you."

Estel saw that guilt and sorrow remained in the eyes of his friend. "Please smile for me, gwador nin. You did what your people do, Legolas. I cannot blame you for that. Well, I can, but I should not. We also had bad luck. If we had been found quickly by one of the search parties, most of this," he gestured down his body, "would not have happened."

Legolas tried to smile but it was a poor effort and within moments his eyes had fallen away from Estel's. "You are too generous, Estel. You should not forgive me so easily. I…you must not call me 'brother'. I no longer deserve to be called so."

Estel sighed and tried to lift his friend's chin but the clumsy bandages made it easy for the elf to pull away. "Legolas, what do you think a brother is? Do you think Elladan, Elrohir, and I have never hurt each other? Hurt each other deeply? Legolas, look at me!" At that Legolas did look up, for a new note had entered his friend's voice. The elf saw strength, love, and, for the first time, equality. At this moment, the elf would not lead his young human companion; the dynamic between them had shifted. Legolas saw their future, one in which each would bring strength to the other's weaknesses. He stared, spellbound, at Aragorn—not Estel. He nearly missed the words spoken so earnestly.

"You are the brother of my heart but we will hurt each other from time to time. You are elf-kind and I am human. Until now, I did not realize that that would matter. Well, we have just seen that sometimes it will. But most of the time it will not, or only in ways that make us each better than we would be alone. Now smile, _gwador nin_, or I will think you still want to leave me."

Legolas looked again at a pleading Estel and shook his head as though to clear it. The man was gone and only the boy remained. But Legolas knew what he had seen. He did smile warmly then, and Estel was content.

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Over the next week, Estel had so many visitors that Elrond had to impose limits so that he might rest. Most brought a small gift: the games, books, and sweetmeats normally given to those long a-bed. But they also brought something else. Over the years, Estel had seen many things when his family looked at him: love, sympathy, mirth, exasperation, fear, and anger. To that list was added respect. The eyes of the most august members of the household looked on him with the respect one noble individual gives to an equal. Estel was as frightened by this as pleased.

Glorfindel came one morning with a book and sat down by the bed. He did not speak for a long time, though he smiled at his young friend. Estel sighed. Living with elves was not easy! At long last, when the boy was about to ask if Erestor had had him stuffed, Glorfindel spoke.

"You know of Ecthelion, who was _my_ Legolas, if you will."

Estel nodded. The warrior spoke rarely of those days. But one day Estel had found him weeping in a thicket far from the house, and his healer's instincts combined with affectionate persistence had coaxed the tale of the Lord of the Fountain from his tutor.(1)

"You know then, though few do, how I hate the praise and the fawning over 'the Balrog Slayer.' The true hero of that day has but few ballads that are never sung. His name is forgotten. But not by me. Never by me. He has always been the standard of nobility against which I measure myself and others. I would be proud beyond measure to introduce to him my friend Estel, whose courage is great in the defense of those he loves. Illuvitar grant that I may one day have the chance so to do."

Estel whispered, "Thank you. I pray I never give you cause you to regret that desire."

The golden-haired Eldar touched his eyes with his fingers and then cleared his throat. "I cannot stay here all day, so if you want a game of chess we had better begin."

Estel nodded enthusiastically. Erestor had spent the afternoon the day before teaching him such moves as "The Scarlet Death," "The Annihilator," and "Orc Surprise." He pointed to where the board had been stored and the two passed a very pleasant hour.

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After two weeks Estel began to plan a prank of epic proportions. It was very uncomfortable being the new "heroic" Estel and the sooner he was back to being in someone's black books the better! Unfortunately his plans were somewhat hindered as he still could not leave his bed on his own. His feet were being very stubborn about healing and his hands and knees had already undergone one operation. At least he did not have to stay in his room; he was carried wherever he wanted to go once he was rested and the fear of infection had faded. Erestor said he looked like a young potentate with a herd of peculiar mumakil as everyone vied to be his steed of the moment.

Legolas had been returned to his own quarters since his convalescence would be lengthy and the healing rooms were small and austere. As soon as he could leave his own room, Estel spent as much time as possible with the elf. He was not entirely comfortable there since half the time Legolas would not meet his eyes. But Estel was afraid to take his eyes off Legolas for long since the elf still looked peaked and depressed. Unfortunately for Legolas, who just wanted to be alone, the guest rooms of an elven prince are spacious and well-appointed. Since Estel was usually there, the rest of the family soon made it their temporary headquarters in the evenings.

One night Elrond sat on the lounge provided for Estel and teased him about being behind in "ructions, rumpus-raising, and revolutions."

Erestor chuckled, "Do not worry, Elrond, all this enforced good behavior will break soon, I have no doubt!"

"Elrohir and I are helping him with a – um – special project," assured Elladan.

Glorfindel asked hastily, "Elrond, have you any messages for Earendil? I am in the mood for an impossible quest that will take me away from here for an Age or two!"

"Glorfindel, I thought you liked me again!" laughed Estel.

"I said no such thing! I merely said I would introduce you to an old friend!"

Legolas remained silent as the banter ranged back and forth. He still felt guilty whenever he looked at Estel and his family. The boy had a ruthless plan to bring things back to normal between them, but the elf was not yet quite strong enough to survive it. So in the meantime, Estel tried to draw Legolas into the conversation in a kind and sensitive manner.

"Ada, I think you would be very interested to hear some of the words I learned from Legolas when he was enjoying his sight-seeing trip up the cliff!"

Elrond had risen and moved across the room to fetch a goblet of wine from a small table loaded with food and drink, but at this he turned. "I would, would I?"

"Estel! What are you – please, Estel!" Legolas looked ready to run out of the room, injury or no.

"Tell us!" demanded the twins.

"Well, first he said something about my ancestry that I do not think could possibly be true and certainly did not reflect well upon you, Ada! Then he suggested that I engage in activities that I am _sure _elves do not normally participate in, and are physically impossible besides!"

"_Legolas_!"

Legolas blushed as scarlet as an elf could become. He stuttered an explanation.

"E –Elrond, y-you see, th-the litter was s-s-swinging and – and banging –"

The elf lord bent the full power of his eyebrows upon the hapless prince who quailed back into his pillows. Then Elrond burst out laughing. Everyone else except Legolas joined in and laughed until they either had the hiccups or their sides hurt too much to continue.

Elrond choked out, "It is a good thing he was not taking _me_ up that cliff, or, Elbereth preserve us, Glorfindel!"

Legolas looked at Estel with narrowed eyes. Suddenly his mouth turned up at the corners. "Speaking of things people have said, lord Elrond, you might be interested in something your son said to _me_."

Estel quickly ran his mind back over their conversations while on their 'trip home.' He did not remember saying anything…

"You have my attention, Legolas. Continue, please."

"It was during a rant about my fading. Let me see….oh, yes! He said that, not being an elf, he would not be writing poetry about how 'utterly, utterly lovely' I looked as I died. What on Arda have you been reading, Estel?"

All eyes turned on the young man. Estel decided the only thing to do was to play the 'poor, brave human boy still exhausted from his injuries and heroic efforts'. He instantly looked pathetic (it was a gift). It did not work this time.

The twins smiled evilly at each other. "We know how to get it out of him!" They pounced—gently—on their little brother and began to tickle him.

"That will not work—I am too (giggle) old to be (snort, giggle) tickled!"

"Are you indeed? Elrohir! The Tickle of Doom!"

"Aye, fearless leader!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Estel shrieked with laughter, pausing whenever he could to beg, gasping, for mercy. Legolas laughed too, for the first time since he had looked over that cursed rock pile. He laughed until tears ran down his cheeks. Elrond looked over at him and nodded to himself. All would be well, given time. Then he strode across the room to rescue his youngest.

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End of "Buried: Ascension"

A/N (1) I wrote that paragraph quickly, just wanting to put in some Estel-Glorfindel interaction. But after it was written and for days afterward the thought kept niggling at me: "So what actually happened when Estel found Glorfindel?" It wouldn't leave me alone and finally I wrote "He Was a Bra' Gallant" to answer that question. Writing is really weird; I used to think that authors were in charge, not their characters!

And of _course_ Legolas recovers without a limp! What do you take me for?


End file.
